I have insomnia. I think it's work-related.
Just the thought of going back to the corporate ratrace had my mind reeling as I laid in bed earlier.
What would my office be like? Most of the bigwig offices are glass on at least one side, and that means no privacy.
Would they let me bring in a CD player?
Where do they eat lunch?
All I saw around there was a Jack in the Box and a dump called The Curve.
I've never ventured into The Curve, but I suspect the decor is beer signs and pool tables, with a real hairy guy in an undershirt, frying greasy burgers behind a stained Formica counter. No can do.
And Jack in the Box? No way. Their food is inedible, and I've heard one too many urban legend maggots-in-the-meat stories about that place.
Plus, what if my insomnia continues? No naptimes in the corporate world, especially not with windowed offices.
And no more shopping at 2 p.m. when the crowds are light. I'd have to become a weekend shopper, which would only add to my basic agoraphobia.
Woe is me. I am hammocked between two worlds.
Too bad Miss Cleo the TV psychic was a fraud. I could use her advice right now.